


Even numbers

by metu



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Nonbinary Midorikawa (mentioned) because I make the rules, Not Beta Read, Purple Prose, after several years of abuse, and also this is me projecting on Kidou, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, probably, this is Kidou yearning and longing for something good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metu/pseuds/metu
Summary: In the economy of Yuuto’s life what he wanted was never something he actually considered, fundamentally agreeing with whatever someone else told him until Endou Mamoru came and showed him that living precariously through the convictions of others was as nice as exploring yourself with a knife, cutting from head to toe and exposing the muscles underneath the first seven layers of skin.-Four instances in which Kidou breaks something.
Relationships: Endou Mamoru/Kidou Yuuto
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Even numbers

> "There is always a window, and I am always behind it, looking out, and desiring to escape to countries and places which I imagine to be light, wall-less, illimitable."
> 
> **\- Anaïs Nin** , from Under a Glass Bell and Other Stories: _The All-Seeing_

**1\. In which Yuuto’s window shatters.**

Kidou Yuuto is an accomplished man, he does not like to sit still and let things flow over his head, he does not take defeat lightly; it’s the reason why he’s the last one out of the building, the last light on of his apartment complex, as he undoes his tie, removes the cufflinks, puts down his glasses (in this precise order, every time, every day), the reason why he lets the steam from the pots hit his face and warm his cheek as he cooks dinner for himself, sometimes for Haruna, too, if she feels like visiting, and daily decides that working with those kids is something he wants to do, for the sake of no one but their own. 

Yuuto has always had this restless energy inside him, stumbling and rumbling and overall creating unpleasant feelings in the place where his esophagus meets his stomach, if as a child it was difficult to pinpoint the reason for it on the big scheme of all things angling towards his neck, at twenty-three it’s quite obvious that at thirteen, other than being short-sighted, he was so focused on what was happening on the outside that he forgot to check the inside of his skull for the jarring evidence of the holes in his brain. 

It took him a splendid mental breakdown in his second year of highschool, the concern of his friends and a Sakuma fresh out of driving school to take him to get a psychological evaluation. After a heated fight between the three of them, Sakuma waiting in the uncomfortable spot of being close enough to hear everything but still too far away, metaphorically or physically, it’s all the same, to do something, and the promise of _just try it, just once_ Yuuto relented, graduated at the top of his class and underwent the drastic process of unlearning every little thing Kageyama once instilled inside his cranial fissures so harshly he had a hard time even just in recognizing them as a problem.

In hindsight, dragging him by the collar of his shirt to a therapist was probably for the better. 

Now, day old weariness coming to rest where his ankles connect to his feet, Yuuto stirs the pasta in the water and waits for the sauce to heat up, Endou sitting on his honestly too expensive couch, reading a sports magazine.

“You said Shindou is ready to come back on the team?” he asks, putting down the ladle on the marble counter. Yuuto knows his house screams luxury out of every angle, he likes practicality but not at the expense of comfort, even if that means buying a penthouse with a view. 

“Yup, pretty much. I’m a bit weary of letting him out on the field so early but the doctor said light exercise is fine as long as he doesn’t play full ninety minutes."

Endou should look out of place, here, his threadbare polo and the tracksuit of the same brand he’s always bought ever since high school, but absurdly enough Yuuto has the sensation of being the one who doesn’t fit, it’s unfamiliar to him, wherever he went he always tried to carve a place for himself, Kageyama was clear on that, one of the first thing he taught him was to be needed, indispensable. 

Kidou has never had the whim to pretend his perspective was universal and objective, considering that for most part of his childhood he was as good as the carpet under Kageyama’s shoes, voices inside his head saying you were a kid, you didn’t know better, but the point still stands, as solid as a roman aqueduct; it’s difficult remembering that, though, having this man sitting in front of him and forgetting how incongruous life keeps on getting and how the enemy he’s fought for most part of his life was the victim from the other side. Endou Mamoru is inexorably, terrifically, inherently good and Yuuto, as much as he likes to act like he didn’t have this mistified realisation at sixteen, is in love with him.

“Those kids have grown on you, haven’t they?” Endou cheekly asks, when Yuuto doesn’t say anything else and he exhales because it feels like he’s trying to make fun of his attachment to their newfound team when they both know, out of the two (the three, now that Gouenji is back with them, and isn’t that a nice thought) of them he always was the one who worried the most. 

Yuuto throws a glare towards him and Endou raises his hands in mock defeat, “I get it, I get it, they are special, right? Watching them play makes you feel so alive,” he ends up with that dreamy tone of his, the one which makes Yuuto’s throat dry up and his nose itch. 

“I think that’s because you breathe and eat soccer,” Yuuto reprimands, turning off the stove and dumping the water inside a strainer.

Endou huffs and gets up, Kidou doesn’t see him but he feels the leather of the couch creak, he has a note, somewhere inside the multitude of marginalia infesting the sides of his neatly stacked lists like pests, that reminds him to search for new furniture since every time Midorikawa visits they refuse to get anywhere near most of the seats in his house. Endou doesn’t seem too bothered by the noise or the fact that some poor cows died for his high-priced sofa, so Yuuto figures that the memo can wait and that he can withstand the Midorikawa-glare, even though he has to admit they turned it into a form of art. 

“What'cha making?” Endou snoops from behind his back

He does not have the usual premade set of natural boundaries like most people have, and what little sense of privacy he has disappears almost completely with those he actively and genuinely cares about. He drapes, he hugs, he pats without discrimination, but if one has the privilege of getting closer to Endou the affection he holds inside his chest, so big for a body that has always been tiny compared to most, engulfs you whole and never lets go, not even when it looks like the worst has happened and the stakes are high. 

“Pasta,” Yuuto answers, after mixing the spaghetti with the wine sauce and sauteing them, because he’s nothing but a perfectionist and cooking allows him to create this little bubble within the universe, where he can control everything while also having the positive upturn of feeding him and keeping Haruna at bay with her worried looks.

Ever since discovering the existence of Hikaru he’s been having extremely child-safe meals and the waft of evaporated alcohol hitting his face feels oddly self liberating.

“Nice, I’ve been craving Italian ever since the last time we went out,” he says, turns towards Yuuto’s cupboards to search for the plates.

He wants to say _I know, you’ve been whinging about it for weeks_ but it would feel too much like an admission on his part and Endou doesn’t look like it, but he’s oddly perceptive of the deeper meanings of words and how secrets can be hidden in the most simple of sentences. Kidou just shrugs, and points to a wider plate, Endou is used to bowls and eats everything out of them but Yuuto abhors bad taste, even if it’s Mamoru’s.

It’s not unusual for them to eat dinner together, before the finals they used to discuss team tactics and strategies and even when Endou decided to embark on that stupid quest of his they still spoke on the phone frequently enough to forget that an ocean was dividing them. Kidou knows he’s supposed to be the most rational out of them, he based his whole character on being nothing but logic-driven, but the familiarity of Endou’s voice and the way he casually touches the space in between his shoulder blades as he passes behind him, how the ambient light of his apartment reflects on the sun-warmed skin when he settles the table, the known variable of his place in front of Yuuto, all make it harder for him to discern the line where friendship mutates into something else, not bigger or better, but different. Yuuto has the weight of this desire hung in front of his neck, whenever he greets Natsumi and has to look in her eyes and remember a time where possibilities and chances were nothing but a game of dice. 

The comparison is easy, Yuuto and Natsumi both share enough idiosyncrasies to know where they stand with each other and it wasn’t like their relationship was ever strained or bad, but other than their business major and a keen love for Paganini they didn’t share any other interests. Except for Mamoru, but Yuuto never thought of him as a mere subject to observe and enjoy.

Endou talks more, he never shuts up and were he another person Yuuto would have already gotten angry; he says something about Shinsuke’s training regime, how the kid is just phenomenal in keeping the ball away from the net. His eyes twinkle and maybe it’s the alcohol, but Yuuto feels the back of his neck unhinge from the rest of his body. 

The conversation never steers away from the same subject, things have drastically changed since they have been on the field, but Endou is still Endou and soccer is the first love of his life, so Yuuto quietly listens, he waits before explaining his concerns or stopping himself before wantonly agreeing to do whatever Mamoru decides needs to be done, Yuuto has the money but his paycheck is still suffering from that time he caved in and funded Endou’s project for a training camp in the mountains. The kids had been ecstatic, at least.

They finish eating the fancy spaghetti brand and a glass of wine, something from his days spent in Italy never going away, and then they keep talking. Endou asks about Hikaru, how school’s been treating him and Yuuto never intended to become Hikaru’s surrogate of an uncle but birds of feather, and all of that. 

“He’s thinking of joining the music club,” Kidou says, swirling the last dregs of the disgusting red he bought out of desperation, probably not even worth getting drunk over.

Yuuto smiles, because he knows Endou will understand.

“Takuto’s charm?” 

Yuuto nods and shifts on the seat, his legs in front of him, the hand not holding the glass full of wine over the back supporting his head, Endou’s eyes are stuck on the wide windows overlooking the city, they both remember a time when it was smaller, Yuuto’s apartment not even existing yet, it’s a wild thought, how radically things can morph when you are not there to see them. Yuuto has realised long ago that he had to grow around the gaps of losses and dearth to live in the overlapped space where his memories and the current life are.

“He wants to try the guitar, actually.” 

Endou takes more wine, even if it’s clear he doesn’t enjoy it but by now they’re fixated on finishing the bottle so there’s no chance of stopping now, is there. Kidou’s temples are throbbing painfully, the knot of his hair still tight enough to hurt and Mamoru’s sweet in that specific way Yuuto knows it means he’ll toss and turn in his too-big bed before giving up and calling Fudou to get shouted at. 

At one point they migrate on the couch, the first two buttons of Yuuto’s shirt unfastened and the sleeves rolled up, there is no real reason to prolong their stay in the living room but in all fairness, Yuuto is trying to delay the inevitable goodbye, he enjoys Endou’s company too much for the sake of his serosae.

Then Endou gets all quiet, the pensive frown on his forehead either a sign of catastrophe or the enlightenment of the century, he opens his mouth and says, “Natsumi and I are divorcing.”

The pressure that was building inside Yuuto’s head explodes. 

**2\. In which Yuuto’s head cracks.**

Endou Mamoru is a good man, Yuuto has always had this worrying fascination with him ever since they were in middle school, sitting on his bedroom floor openly discussing questions adults preferred to muse over with hushed voices and dark looks. Endou, ever the paradox, simply does not hold himself accountable in front of the stigma of talking about death and grief. 

When he calls Gouenji to talk about it, days later in order to avoid panicked decisions, the blond says he already knew.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you weren't the one who figured it out first,” Shuuya says, Yuuto hears the clicking sound of the heels of his Oxfords on the floor even over the phone.

Kidou has to hold back the avalanche of _hows_ and _whens,_ the light of the rising sun illuminating his bedroom, he doesn’t want to admit that, possibly, the mental image of Mamoru he’s nailed down on the back of his retinas might not correspond to the actual, living Endou, bones and muscles, because that’d be like willingly admitting forfeit to a game of chess and Yuuto is not a quitter. And he rarely is wrong, too. 

“Well, I just wanted to check in with you, thanks.”

“Kidou-

He shuts the phone before Gouenji can say something like _we can talk about it_ , which would mean that he also is aware of Yuuto’s uncomfortable position on the chessboard, king trapped and queen already eaten. His phone lights up again, a message from Gouenji he does not want to read and a voice message from Haruna. He calls her back.

“Did you need me?”

“Endou said _he_ needed you to step in, ‘cause he’ll be away for a while, do you know anything about this?”

Haruna rarely asks questions she doesn’t already know the answer to, it’s honestly frightening how quickly she manages to extort information out of unaware individuals and make them play her game, even if she hardly has malicious intentions. Yuuto shouldn’t feel the need to be wary of his sister, but the tone of her voice indicates she’s in a no bullshit kind of mood and he dislikes arguing with her.

“Yes, I’m,” a pause, “ _a_ _ware_ of Endou’s forthcoming absence.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your interns, he seemed worried. Is everything alright?”

Again, Yuuto feels like she’s asking more for the wellbeing of Yuuto’s neuroses, which mostly involve trying to keep the kids’ bones intact and writing emails, anyways so it’s not like she has to worry. Haruka makes a questioning noise and Yuuto pinches the bridge of his nose, he needs an antacid. 

“It’s fine, I’ll be at Raimon for afternoon practice.”

“Midorikawa has asked about you, by the way. They said something about picking Haruki and Masaki up.”

“Alright, anything else?”

“Take your vitamins,” his sister says, which he takes to be a goodbye so he hangs up, falling back on the bed and contemplating sleeping until lunch time, before he needs to start thinking about responsibilities and Endou being away to get a divorce, apparently. 

Yuuto doesn’t brood, as a rule, he has a pensive disposition and a plain resting face that make him look like he’s more threatening than he actually is, it works wonder in his daily life because people tend to avoid bothering him and the fact that Sakuma is as intimidating as him allows Yuuto to cut the stubborn idiots coming into his office down to a minimum. Yuuto has the feeling most of this is caused by their common background under Kageyama’s vulture wings. Fudou said so, too, once over dinner, but Kidou tends to take Fudou’s glib advice with a grain of salt considering it often involves hit and runs. 

He gets in the shower, the pressure of the water helping dissolve the kinks in his back, if Endou was there he would force Yuuto into getting a massage, reminding him to take ten minutes breaks and stretch, he realises how dangerous it is to think about Endou’s hands and smile in the shower but hidden by the eyes of everyone else the monstrosity of his want is less a sin and more a simple fact of his existence. 

When he has to get in the car and drive all the way to Raimon he shifts uncomfortably until Haruna gives him the keys to the store room, Tenma and Shinsuke already sitting on the curb greeting him the moment they see Yuuto’s long coat. It’s cold enough that their breaths are condensing in little clouds but he knows the frigid weather won’t stop them from running up and down the field. Yuuto feels a nostalgic pang as he unlocks the door and lets the children inside, he catches Tsurugi making his way towards the lockers to change and quietly glancing at Tenma and in a second he’s fourteen again, charming boy in front of him and the turmoil of new discoveries churning his insides and taking the shape of calloused hands and bruises. 

Yuuto doesn’t really have to say anything to them, Takuto and Tenma are responsible enough to lead the boys through the exercises without the need of his assistance and he’s left supervising them, Haruna next to him with that kind of face she makes when she wants to reprimand him. 

After a while she opens her mouth, “Is it true? About Endou and Natsumi.”

Yuuto considers it for a second, arms crossed in front of his chest and perennial frown, “Yes, I think he’ll be away for a while.”

“Are you alright?”

“Two of our best friends are divorcing and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

Haruna huffs, she looks extremely like him when she does that. His sister gets up and closer to him, forces a hand under one of his arms and links her elbow with his, comforting in the way she normally is. The girls throw them a quizzical look, Akane seems close to snap a photograph but Aoi says something and the hush of voices subdues. 

“You never talk about these things, I’m worried.”

“You don’t need to be, besides Endou seemed fine.”

“He always seems fine, you’re the same in that stupid way.”

Haruna shakes a bit from the cold, she insists on wearing light pants even though it bites at her legs and Yuuto cannot hold it against her because he’s stubborn, too, but he thinks his specific kind of caustic contumacy is way more dangerous. 

“Gouenji said he was surprised I didn’t figure it out,” he lets out a breath and checks his wrist watch, Haruna doesn’t say anything.

“It’s weird, indeed. Now that I think about it they never really made sense, did they?” 

That’s the thing with Haruna, she’s way more blunt than her appearance might suggest, Yuuto thinks it’s also partially his fault because compared to him Haruna is akin to an angel. 

“I’m not a good judge when it comes to functioning relationships.”

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters, but they said what needed to be said and the process of smothering Yuuto’s worries needs to be done with caution or he’ll end up naked in a bathtub filled with lye instead of water. Endou knows that, he’s always been great at catching the twinkle of his eyes under the opaque glasses, seeing him and through him, Endou never cared for pretenses and as a kid the most daring thing to Yuuto was seeing how frightening self acceptance could look on a boy freed from inhibitions. 

He calls the kids over, tells them to take care when going home and that coach Endou’ll be away for a few weeks, nothing to worry about. Tenma still looks squeamish, the captain band looks like it’s taking a toll on him and Yuuto’s worried they rushed him into something he wasn’t ready for, but Takuto’s there with him, always guiding the team and Haruna was right, he really does take after Endou, even if it’s probably just their memories interfering, a strange form of pareidolia where everything they see takes the shape of Mamoru’s spirit.

Hikaru and Masaki are waiting for him out of the school gates, Masaki is showing some sort of playing cards, when Yuuto gets closer they stop talking and immediately get quieter. He knows Hikaru is not afraid of him, perhaps intimidated but he guesses that any twelve year old in front of an adult would be intimidated. Masaki works a bit differently, he’s a nice kid once he gets over the need to impress and annoy, Kidou looks at them and can’t help but empathise.

“Are you ready to go?”

They both nod and fall in step behind him, after a while the chatter starts again and Yuuto smiles fondly, he doesn’t think he’s as good with kids as Endou or Gouenji are, but he enjoys being around them, wouldn’t have become a coach in the first place if there wasn’t something so grounding that compelled him to take care of them. Fudou likes to call it his personal father complex, but again, Fudou sometimes says things just to annoy them, even when they hold a spectacle of truth.

There is a bit of commotion when the children try to exit the car and take their bags all by themselves, but once they’re out and safe Hikaru stops in his track and Yuuto waits for him before entering the car, again.

“Is- Is coach Endou alright?”

Yuuto smiles, “Of course, he just needed some time to take care of something, no need to worry.”

Hikaru’s eyes are forever trusting, Yuuto is reminded once again of perspectives and bloodlines, he desperately wants to hold this child’s hands in between his bigger ones and say sorry, to whatever has happened, but Hikaru is not Yuuto, is not Sakuma, is not Fudou. Hikaru shines bright and smiles softly and Yuuto pats his shoulder and gently shoves him in the direction of his house.

“Go, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” and with that, he makes a promise. 

Yuuto rides back to his home, he hides behind complicated words and long silences in the hope Endou will find him, the centre of the universe and the mystery of feelings resolving on spinning like an ancient mercury pendulum still oscillating between answers and questions. Yuuto wakes up and thinks about Endou, gets along with his day watching Endou’s straight back, and for the most part of his life he never considered the possibility of acting according to his thoughts, it was an unknown risk and Kidou Yuuto does not gamble with God. 

Now, stopping the car, shifting in his seat, the horizon still as wide as the time they spent in Okinawa dreaming about stars over the roof of the bus, Yuuto can touch the idea of Endou Mamoru in his life and it’s scarier than anything he’s ever thought. 

**3\. In which Yuuto’s desire is a ruptured vein.**

In the economy of Yuuto’s life what he wanted was never something he actually considered, fundamentally agreeing with whatever someone else told him until Endou Mamoru came and showed him that living precariously through the convictions of others was as nice as exploring yourself with a knife, cutting from head to toe and exposing the muscles underneath the first seven layers of skin. 

It’s something Yuuto came to terms with after years of talking to someone whose understanding of his persona was sedimented in trauma and issues, he doesn’t want to think of himself as a moth stuck inside a wardrobe but the pale hand sitting over his shoulder traps him like a bug under a glass. 

Three weeks have passed, Natsumi and Endou act like nothing has happened and Yuuto feels his eyes in the back of his throat, not knowing whether swallowing them down or spitting them out. Endou didn’t say anything about what had happened, the only thing he told him over coffee was that it was mostly trying to find a new place to live that bothered him because Natsumi technically bought the house with her own money and he felt bad about living with her. Yuuto blurted out _you can stay with me for a while_ and Endou just smiled, said he’d be thankful, Kidou won’t even notice him.

Yuuto wanted to disagree, but that would’ve been rude and he already made a decision he was starting to regret but they’re friends before anything else, they trust each other like the earth trusts the moon to keep the oceans at bay and they’re here, a glorious month of cohabitations and it still sounds like middle school, sleepovers at Yuuto’s or at Shuuya’s or sometimes at Mamoru’s when they felt like camping, and it was a different reality there and then and Yuuto aches with the strength of a collapsing orchestra the timpani detonating, the strings shattering, and underneath the crescendo of noise, Endou solid as a rock. 

Yuuto does not have anything with him left but tinnitus. 

They shift easily into a routine that works for the both of them, at the end of the day they have the same job and sharing meal times and car rides is convenient, Endou is a good housemate even though he tends to be a bit on the messier side and Haruna was right, Yuuto’s a freak but he has so much already occupying that head of his the only thing he finds comfort in is tidying and dusting the black pieces of furniture in his house. 

Mamoru is nice, but Yuuto already knew that, he’s good and charming and there is not a single human being in the entire world that hasn’t been reached once by his voice. Yuuto doesn’t feel special, Mamoru is easy to like and perhaps even easier to love, all it takes is an encouraging word and you’ll be done for, but he’s also handsome in that peculiar way sun kissed cheeks and choppy hair can be handsome.

He doesn’t care about dressing smart, Yuuto thinks he’s seen him in a suit three times and one of them was at the funeral of his grandpa, which doesn’t explain anything if not the absurdity of the thought of Endou Mamoru in black and white. 

“We’ve got a friendly game coming soon, I think we need to change the formation a bit,” Endou says, over dinner, breaking Yuuto out of his squalid daydream. 

They ordered ramen from Tobitaka’s place, he makes them pay less and always offers fried rice, Endou’s favourite, Kidou is sure to tip him greatly whenever he goes since he feels bad about it. The man in front of him slurps and bites, the appetite of a waking bear, and Yuuto is disgusted by the fact that even like this he finds him attractive, still. 

“I already asked Haruna about the reports on the other team, I’ll see what I can give you.”

Endou smiles, hunched over his plate like Yuuto’s about to jump and take it from him, “You’re the best, thank you.”

Yuuto has had enough practice with containing his reaction that he knows the way he chokes on broth is nonchalant and natural. Endou insists on cleaning the bowls, even though Kidou has a perfectly functioning dishwasher, the man says it’d be a waste and besides, he’s there, isn't he?

Indeed, he is, Yuuto thinks, and he permeates into the surface of every object he owns and whenever Kidou takes something in his hands he feels the imprints, the simple cartography of Endou’s ever-present touches riddling his mind, leaving him to hanker after an outstretched hand that he’s not even sure is for him.

They take tea, before going to sleep, Endou’s forced him into a solid regime of at least five hours of uninterrupted sleep and he says maintaining a routine can help him stabilise his lifestyle, Yuuto knows this because he gave the same advice to the kids at Teikoku but he’s so damn weak for Endou caring for him he just lets him serve the warm liquid inside his cup. 

On the sofa, television as a means of scaring away the silence of the night, Endou looks like an oil painting when light hits at odd angles, then he turns towards him and asks, “Are you okay?”

Kidou looks at him, no glasses, not even a shirt because it’s Saturday and he didn’t change out of his pyjamas, inclines his head and part of his hair falls into his face, Mamoru looks worried.

“I am,” he hates the fact that it sounds more like a question than anything. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Yuuto brings his legs up on the sofa, so unlike him that Endou looks a bit out of place but he repeats the movement and he’s sitting cross legged, facing Yuuto in all of his encompassing wholeness. Yuuto has survived so many years under nothing but the cold gaze of a man he feels like taking the first breath again, crying and screaming after the shock of birth.

Endou spreads gentle rain over his overgrown garden of mistakes and of a friendship that lasted ten years and hopefully counting.

“Why- you and Natsumi, why?”

Endou understands, it’s obscene how abyssal his eyes can get whenever he’s focused on something and now Yuuto is the witness of the engulfing gaze of a man he’s loved since he was out of middle school and he won't look away, can't.

“We wanted different things,” is all he says, and before he can elaborate Yuuto is lost in the sea of hypotheticals he’s wont to drown into. Natsumi and Endou had been dating since the end of high school and no one had seen it coming, Natsumi and Endou were good with each other because it seemed like they didn’t ever fight. They rushed to get married, end of the story. 

Natsumi and Endou worked because they never talked and simply existed in the liminal space of something that had to be done, he understands Shuuya’s words, now. He thinks: how funny it is that everything about me needs to be sharp and I couldn’t even see the truth right in front of me. Yuuto has been bleeding to death for ten years and Endou looks like he just now realised he was the one who stabbed him.

He wants to say, I’m glad you figured it out, he wants to throw himself out of the window and never look back. Endou exhales and the tension breaks.

“I always thought you had me figured it out from the first time you’ve seen me,” he starts, “I think you were my first crush and I didn’t even realise it.”

Yuuto chokes on air, Endou continues undaunted, “Natsumi and I- I hate to say this but it was something born out of convenience, my grandpa was dying and her father wanted a future for her she didn’t like and the only escape we found was. Well, that.”

Endou does not stop looking at him, it’s probably for the best because Yuuto knows he’ll stop this conversation before it’s even out in the aether, the sofa creaks under them, the reporter on television is talking about the weather and Yuuto’s hands are cold as untouched marble. 

“I wanted to be sure before telling you anything, it’s terribly difficult trying to decipher what you think, you know?” Kidou opens his mouth but Endou shakes his head, he inches closer.

“We’ve known each other for so long I thought words weren’t necessary but,” Yuuto still wakes up in the middle of the night because he feels Kageyama’s hands overimposed under his lungs, squeezing and retelling him of days where he Kidou Yuuto didn’t exist yet, and Endou is burning bridges and cathedrals to hold his hands (still cold) in his.

Kidou has felt panic in his life, he’s broken down and he’s woken up, he’s not the sixteen year old crying in the therapist’s office anymore but Endou knows that, he never saw him as crippled, as fragmented.

Endou’s lips taste of bitter black tea, of eggs in the fried rice, of the end of life as he knew it before. Endou’s arm, his chest, the way he holds his face between the calluses and the scars, a plain face he’s seen a multitude of times, Yuuto could eat his own legs.

It’s sharp and desperate that turns in soft and quiet, the vowels of Mamoru’s name shifting under his tongue and he’s panting the word outside of existence, he’s clawing outside of his own skin as Endou’s nodding, noses brushing, cheeks hurting from the smiles and the bites. 

Yuuto falls back into Mamoru, over him, under him, by his side, he feels like he’s been waiting in a railway station all his life just for this train to start, to leave and now that it’s done, now that the glasses are broken and the feelings are gurgling like the cries of an infant he’s stricken by relief. 

Yuuto feels like everyone else who has ever come into contact with the wonderful piece of reality that is Endou Mamoru, but he’s not and he won’t ever be. Endou says _I love you, I love you_ he mutters it, slips it under the marrow inside his vertebrae, fits it into his genetic code. 

There never was a life without Endou, grief and mistakes and the hurting appeasement of consolation all disappearing. There are only two men, one bed.

**4\. In which the walls of Yuuto’s room disintegrate.**

There is an itch under his chin, Yuuto is awake and Mamoru’s too, they don’t talk and the lingering words left unsaid yesterday encumber over the roof of his bedroom like a glacial erratic sitting over a stump of dirt. Endou’s hands are on his back, under his shirt, they wriggle and whisper, he wants to preserve this feeling forever but the hours they have together are so few and Yuuto holds on tighter.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Mamoru’s semantics rarely include sorrow, Yuuto's skin crawls with need. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't there before,” a kiss where pulse meets tendon, ligaments tight.

Under the early morning light, the one you can’t distinguish from the halogens still alive, Yuuto’s drumming heart cuts through the frantic chant of his longing, he’s been playing for so long this game of levers and pulleys he forgot how nice it was to just exist. 

The broken window closes, the ruptured dam is empty, Yuuto’s arms are full of a man so dear and so great and so good his chest expands and Mamoru’s hands never stop, his lips don’t pause, his warm nose pierces through his cheeks and inside the root of his teeth, takes place where he was always meant to be. 

Yuuto closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is bad, I won't even pretend it isn't like I do with most things I write, but I wanted to do something about these two and so here it is, brought to you by a gut wrenching song and the compelling need of self-projection. As always, sorry for the mistakes. I hope you have a good day.
> 
> (You can talk to me on [tumblr](https://creamation.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mensmentis))


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